The Cleaner (Professionals 9)

Damn.

I liked the sound of that a lot more than I should have, more than it was safe to.

"I don't have any objections to that," I said, watching as her eyes went soft.

"Good. I will do the work thing. You do the shower thing. And we will meet back here for dinner."

"Sounds good," I agreed, turning to walk away.

Only to freeze when her hand landed on my arm, pulling, wanting me to turn back.

But she was impatient, before I could, she was around me, her other hand going up to the back of my neck, drawing me down as she went up on her tiptoes to seal her lips to mine.

The shock of it made my reaction time too slow. Before I could even process what was happening, she broke the contact, and moved away, shooting me a wicked smile over her shoulder.

When she was out of sight, I made my way out the door on stiff legs, trying to remind myself of all the reasons I couldn't storm back into her house, grab her, and finish what we had started.

If for no other reason, I needed to go home to shower. I'd cleaned off as well as I could in the creek, but I needed running water, some good soap, something to scrape under my fingernails with.

With that thought, I made my way across town to my place, working on my truck before I went inside.

I was most of the way done when the carpet cleaner suddenly shut off.

Figuring I'd pulled it out of the outlet, I climbed back out of the truck, only to find Nia standing there with her finger on the button.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asked, exhaling her breath.

"I'm... detailing my truck," I said, feeling it was fairly obvious. "After the last job," I clarified.

"I'm not talking about your truck or your last job," she told me.

"Then what?" I asked, even as I felt my stomach clench.

"See, funny thing. I had this crazy theory about you and the true crime girl. So crazy, in fact, that I didn't even want to say it out loud. So I decided to crawl out from behind my desk, and look into things myself. I don't have to tell you this, but I like my desk. I like my very expensive chair I made Quin pay for. I like my Hershey kisses and my music blasting. I don't like having to leave all that behind because some coworker of mine is being an idiot."

"Nia..."

"Don't Nia me like I don't know what I'm talking about. You know, it's funny," she said, shaking her head. "All you guys with all your training... you all don't have shit on a woman who is trying to see if a man is fucking around or not."

"You're following me."

"I had a hunch. I wanted to confirm it. So I reiterate. What the fuck are you doing?"

"It's..."

"Complicated?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. "Why? Because she's pretty?"

She was more than pretty.

She was fucking perfect.

But I didn't think this was the time for me to say that.

"She's... different."

"She's different," Nia repeated, wanting more.

"She is," I insisted, not quite knowing how to explain it. It had been so long since I let myself feel anything for anyone who wasn't a coworker. I was struggling to understand any of this.

"What the hell made you approach her in the first place?" Nia asked.

"I don't know," I admitted, sighing, feeling my shoulders slump.

"Alright. I want explanations. But I also want a drink. So..." she said, waving toward the house, waiting for me to find my manners.

"Sure. Come in," I said, pushing the carpet cleaner back into the garage, then leading her in through the door there.

"Should I take off my shoes or... right," she said, seeing me going in without taking them off. "Okay. Not bad, Finn, not bad," she said as she moved through my kitchen and into my living room. "I think I expected hospital room sterile," she said, turning in a circle. "And I wasn't expecting you to have style," she added.

"I've cleaned a lot of houses," I explained. "Picked up on some things."

"I'm half-tempted to have you come and design my place. I'm still seventy-percent in boxes, and haven't picked a single paint color or throw pillow yet."

"You've been there a year."

"I know," she agreed. "That's what happens when you work fourteen-hour days most days of the week."

"I could help," I offered.

"I'm not going to lie, I'm a little offended I haven't woken up to a clean house yet," she admitted, raising a brow at me.

"Don't be," I said. "I just... you were new."

"And I haven't exactly been making friends," she agreed. "Can I let you in on a little secret?"

"Yes."

"I came in so hard and tough because you all are, predominantly, a boy's club, and I was a little bit intimidated. Then I kind of had to keep rolling with it because you all expected me to be a stubborn pain in the ass with a lot of opinions. Which, don't get me wrong, I am. But I think it has made me feel excluded from the group. So consider this my open invitation to break into my place to scrub my grout and shampoo my carpets."